


Possession

by bees_stories



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dominant!John, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Possessive!Sherlock, Risky Behaviour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:30:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bees_stories/pseuds/bees_stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has a possessive streak. John uses it to his advantage.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Possession

***

Sherlock watched as the woman smiled at John. It was a predatory smile, the sort that said she was looking to pull, had found a suitable target, and was homing in, ready to make her move. She laughed at something John said and touched the inside of his wrist with two fingertips. It was an intimate gesture, the sort that insinuated much more than drinks and conversation was on offer.

John's eyes widened at the contact. He licked his lips and carefully pulled his hand away as he busied himself with his drink, jangling the single ice cube against the side of the glass before taking a swallow that nearly drained it. The cube came unstuck and bounced against his teeth and then back to the bottom of the glass as he smiled self-consciously.

The woman laughed again and leaned in, whispering something against John's ear over the din of the other patrons and the too loud music. John shook his head, but it was unclear if he was declining something or hadn't heard correctly. 

Meeting at the bar had been John's idea, the prelude to the rest of their evening. After a drink they were meant to go for a meal and then perhaps to the cinema, if they could manage to settle on a film. But the longer Sherlock watched the woman fawn over John, the quicker his enthusiasm for their plans evaporated. A dull heat seemed to crawl through his veins, dimming his vision and curdling his stomach. He strode through the bar, threading his way around small tables and milling drinkers until he stood looming over John's shoulder. He picked up John's nearly empty drink, finished it, and then put the glass back down on the bar with a decisive thump. "Shall we have another?" he asked conversationally, "Or are you ready to go?" 

The woman shot daggers, her disdain at trespassers apparent to even the most casual of observers. "I didn't know you had a friend." She picked up her glass of white wine, flipping her mane of streaked blonde hair as she flounced off, high heels wobbling across the hardwood. She stumbled, accidentally on purpose, into the arms of another presumably unattached stocky blond – it seemed the woman had a type – and began to apologise profusely. Sherlock dismissed her from his thoughts as he took the place she'd abandoned and ordered fresh drinks for John and himself.

"What was that?" John asked. "I'm not objecting, mind. In fact, I thought it was kind of sexy. Your eyes did this flashing thing." 

"Did they," Sherlock replied coolly. He still felt quite possessive, as if he needed to mark John as his own. It was a new feeling, and powerful. He decided to indulge it. "Drink up," he said as the barman served them. "We have somewhere to be." 

He downed his whiskey in one go. The burn of the mid-price blend was nothing compared to the one he'd experienced when he'd seen the woman touch John. John gave him a confused glance, they had at least an hour before their booking. Dutifully, he tipped his glass back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. He licked his lips and wiped his mouth with a cocktail napkin before following Sherlock out of the bar and down a darkened alleyway. 

"This isn't the way to the – " 

Sherlock shushed him and then took his wrist, blotting away any lingering scent the woman may had left with his own. Once they were out of sight of any cameras or other witnesses, he pushed John up against the bricks of an adjacent building. 

John stiffened reflexively as he was pinned between the wall and Sherlock's body. He pushed at Sherlock's chest, but there wasn't enough room to break the hold. "What are you doing?" he hissed, caught between anger and curiosity.

"This." Sherlock trapped John's jaw with his hand and leaned in. The first kiss was brief, just a quick meeting of their lips. The second was far more assertive as he gave into his jealousy, pushing into John's mouth and claiming it for himself. 

He broke the kiss when John began squirm, his body reacting to the sudden flood of stimulation. "That woman wanted you," Sherlock whispered harshly against John's ear. "I saw it in her face. The way she touched you." He pushed his hand underneath John's jacket and ran it down his chest until it came to rest over his hip. 

"It didn't mean anything," John protested. "Not to me." He kissed Sherlock back, sucking on his lower lip before delving deeper, breaking off long enough to draw a breath, and then kissing Sherlock deeply as he pulled him even closer. He nipped Sherlock's neck and then said roughly, "Or didn't you notice my body language? You're the only one I want." He reached between them, groping blindly until his fingers closed over the erection tenting Sherlock's trousers. "And God do I want you right now." 

He glanced around the alleyway. The only illumination was a sliver of ambient light from the high street. The alley itself was cast in shadows, any lamps that once lit the space had been long broken or burnt out. It stunk of rubbish and beer and urine, hardly an ideal trysting place, but in that moment, neither one of them cared. John unbuckled Sherlock's belt and then went after the flies of his trousers and his pants, pushing them down over his hips as he knelt, putting his mouth against Sherlock's erection and exhaling against it, his breath hot and eager. 

John urged Sherlock to widen his stance and then without any other preliminary foreplay, he drew his tongue over the crown of Sherlock's penis and dipped his head, engulfing the shaft and drawing quickly back again. Sherlock dropped his hands to John's shoulders, offering a steadying presence, and bit down on his lip as John cupped his scrotum and then began to finger the sensitive skin between his thighs as he found his rhythm.

What they were doing was wrong. It was illicit and tawdry. If they were caught out, by other patrons or the police, they would be publicly humiliated. But the sense of danger only added spice to the excitement. Sherlock revelled in it. And as John spit on his fingertips, it became blatantly obvious that he did too. 

Sherlock gasped as John breached him with a fingertip. He gasped again as the first finger was joined by a second and together they found his prostate. He moaned, muffling the sound against his coat collar as John's fingers moved in time with the motions of his tongue and lips.

In and out. A slight feeling of resistance and then an electric tremor as John's fingers brushed over his prostate and drew out again. Up and down, John's mouth, wet and warm and welcoming as he tongued and suckled. Each brush, lap and caress sent Sherlock spiralling higher until the noisome alleyway, the risk of detection and the fear of humiliation fell away. He leant his head back against the wall and shut his eyes, memorising the feeling of John's fingers as they pumped in and out of his body and John's tongue and lips as they slid over his cock. His knees began to tremble. He could no longer control the thrusting of his hips as they sought to fuck John's mouth. John took him, all the way to the root. Sherlock cupped John's head, holding him in place as white light bloomed behind his tightly shut eyelids. 

Now it was John pressing him against the wall, aligning their lips roughly before pushing his tongue past Sherlock's lips. His mouth no longer tasted of whiskey, but of semen. "Tell me why I shouldn't bend you over that stack of boxes and take you right now?" he asked breathlessly against Sherlock's ear. 

There were a dozen good reasons, but the most compelling was the sound of a constable's radio growing nearer. Sherlock pulled John with him deeper into the shadows, pressing their bodies so close together they may as well have been joined. He could feel John's erection hot against his leg, the danger from being caught out by the constable had only heightened his eagerness. He reached down and caressed it, offering a crude hand job; the trouser fabric a barely-there impediment. John undid the buttons of Sherlock's shirt. He muffled his sighs and hitched breaths by mouthing kisses and biting softly at Sherlock's skin until the sound of the constable's footsteps faded. 

Sherlock nodded toward the boxes, agreeing they should move as he pulled his clothes up long enough to cover the few steps without stumbling. He heard the soft metal on metal sound of a zip lowering and when John spit into his hand, he pushed away the tails of his coat and offered himself, reclining over the rough wooden cases as he was breached again.

"Oh damn," John cursed softly. "That's good." He took a shaking breath and then steadied himself, gripping Sherlock's hips tightly as he began to thrust. It wasn't comfortable, but it felt right; as raw and primal as their first passion-laden kiss, and just as possessive. Although Sherlock had been the one to initiate the encounter with his crude display of alpha male behaviour, in that moment, as John splayed a hand against Sherlock's back, supporting his weight as he thrust deeply and then came, he was the one wholly possessed. 

They lay there for several long moments in the shadows, panting, and then abruptly John pulled out. Sherlock had a linen handkerchief. John had a wad of tissues and the bar napkin. They used everything, doing what they could to clean up before tucking themselves away and straightening their clothes. 

John glanced at his watch, as if trysting in alleyways was an everyday occurrence. "If we hurry we could still make our booking." 

"Is that what you want?" Dinner had become the furthest thing from Sherlock's mind. He was thinking about the pressure of John's fingers as they dug into his hip and how the small pain had only added to his pleasure. He glanced over at John and saw the confidence of a man in control in his eyes. 

"I'm starving," John replied. He took Sherlock's hand and pulled him towards the high street. "But I think dinner can wait."

end


End file.
